Down, that anchors on the air; Clouds, that paint their changes there; Seas, that fmoothly dimpling lie, While the storm impends on high, Shewing, in an obvious glafs, Joys, that in poffession pase;

Tranfient, sickle, light, and gay. Flats ring, only to betray; What, alas, can life contain! Life! like all its circles—vain.

Will the stork, intending rest, On the billow build her nest? Will the bee demand his store From the bleak and bladelefs more t Man alone, intent to stray, Ever turns from wisdom's way; Lays up wealth in foreign land, Sows the fea, and ploughs the fand. Soon this elemental mafs, Soon th' incumVring world lhall pafs; Form be wrapt in wasting sire, Time be fpent, and life expire.

Then, ye boasted works of men, Where is your afylum then? Sons of pleafure, fons of care, Tell me, mortals, tell me where? Gone, like traces on the deep, Like a fceptre grafp'd in steep, Dews exhal'd from morning glades, Melting fnows, and gliding lhades.

Pafs the world, and what's behind? Virtue's gold, by sire resin'd; From an univerfe deprav'd, From the wreck of nature fav'd.

Like the life-fupporting grain, Fruit of patience, and of paw, On the fwain's autumnal day, Winnow'd from the chass away. Little trembler, fear no more, Thou hast plenteous crops in store; Seed, by genial forrows fown, More than all thy fcorners own.